Using Me as a Muse
by Lady Anatui
Summary: CharlieKnox.  Charlie's been avoiding the others after his expulsion, but, halfway into January, Knox finally receives a call.
1. January 17

_Well, I've had this idea for a while, but I never really got to writing it. It's not that long, but, I must warn you, the chapters will only be as long as their phone conversations. Eventually, the boys will all get together again, but that won't be any time soon._

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**January 17**

The sign still says, 'Please limit calls to ten minutes,' but I barely take notice of that. I don't know how long I've been talking on the phone now, but I don't even get to see him anymore, so can you really blame me? He's my best friend, and now he's nowhere near, so what do they really expect? They were the ones that expelled him anyways.

This is the first time I've spoken to him since Christmas break. I only talked to him once then. It wasn't like I didn't want to talk to him, but he wouldn't answer any phone calls—not from me, or from Meeks, or from Pitts, or from Todd, or from anybody else for that matter. From I gathered when I talked to his mother once, he wouldn't really talk to them that much.

Instead of talking to people, he was doing one of the things that Charlie does best: ignoring to people. Sure, to the people that don't know him that well, that would sound pretty weird and out of the ordinary, but I know him. When he doesn't want to admit something or he feels ashamed about something, he tries not to think about it, and, sometimes, talking to certain people can bring back certain memories.

Apparently he's feeling better, though. Definitely enough to talk for quite a bit more than those lousy, designated ten minutes. But he's still not healing very fast. It's not like I'm surprised by that, though, as none of us are really healing all that quickly. But we at least have each other. And, even more than that, I have Chris to help me as well. He—he has no one with him.

"It's really not that bad here," he says to me begrudgingly. I'm not sure whether he's saying that because it's at least partially true or because some weird person (or administrator, but they do rather fit into the category of weird people) is watching and/or listening to this conversation.

"Are you sure about that?" I ask with a small smile but that easily fades away into worry. "Tell me about your classes and teachers—and the other students. You've barely said a word about it except that you 'hate it' and now that 'it's really not that bad'." It's true. He's barely spoken about anything that has to do with his school. I don't really know a thing about it—well, I do know it's name: St. John's Academy, Massachusetts. A bit of a boring name to me, but I'm not the one attending classes there.

He sighs into the phone, and I can tell that it's from exasperation. He must really not want to talk about it. Because of that, I expect him to say something to change the subject or even openly decline this one, but he doesn't. Frustrated, but he still says, "Truthfully, the classes aren't as difficult as Hell-ton's, but it's definitely just as boring. Mr. Godfrey's pretty cool, though. He teaches the mathematics class."

I guess I'm surprised to hear him say anything on the matter. He's a rather contradictory character: He wears his emotions on his sleeves, but he particularly dislikes _talking_ about them. My shock is shown to him through my momentary silence, and he adds, "Knox? You all right?"

"Yeah," I reply with a small smile. Maybe he'll actually open up more. "Made any friends there?" I inquire hopefully. Maybe—just maybe—he'll actually say something on the matter. But I shouldn't get my hopes too high. Knowing Charlie like I do, he'll probably just push my concern away. He's a tough guy… or at least that's what he wants everyone to think. So he has to act like he has no emotions—his theory, not mine. If I had it my way, though, he would never be upset enough to _have_ to hide his emotions.

Still, maybe he'll open up more.

"Listen," he says to me, and I know it's not going to be the answer I was hoping for. "I need to go. We've been talking for a long time now, and it's getting late."

But, then again, maybe not. This is _Charlie_, after all. It's rare that he opens up to anyone, even his best friend.

He pauses for a moment before adding as an afterthought, "I'm surprised Hager hasn't scolded you for being on the phone for so long," his voice wavering with what I can only assume to be amusement he's attempting to hide from me.

I know he's avoiding _that_ subject. That's for damn sure. And that means he hasn't made any friends. It means he's being stubborn and pushing everyone away. It means we're hanging up the phone now. Apparently it was rude of me to even ask the question.

I sigh, knowing that nothing I could say now would make him open up to me. Sometimes, I think that, because we're best friends, that means we actually tell each other less. I don't know how or why—and I do know that's odd, but it's true.

"All right," I say apprehensively. "When will I talk to you again, Charlie?" Honestly, I won't let him block us out again. He's done that far too much for my liking, and, if he's not going to make any new friends, he had better keep his old ones.

"I don't know," he replies sadly. "I'll call you again this coming weekend. Send the guys my love. Bye, Knoxious." He doesn't give me enough time to affirm or deny what he just said—or to say anything for that matter. He just hangs up the phone.

I listen to the dial tone for a moment before I sigh, "G'night, Charlie," into the lonely phone, and finally pull the receiver away from my ear and place it where it belongs. I heave another sigh and push myself away from the wall to return to my dorm room for the night. With a quick glance at the nearest clock, I realize it's nearly time for bed. I had better hurry, so I begin my trek up to my room.

Honestly, I'm worried about Charlie—we all are. I know he can take care of himself, but that doesn't mean a thing when he has to _want_ to take care of himself. And, right now, he just doesn't seem to care. It doesn't help that he's so damn proud. If there's something wrong with him, I'm not sure that he'll admit it, even to himself. And it's not like we can really get up close and personal to talk about it. He's so damn far away. I just hope he'll be all right.

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_Thanks for reading. Please leave me a review._


	2. January 23

_This chapter's rather short, I know. But, again, their conversation isn't very long. Longer chapters will be coming up, though, I promise._

_By the way, this entire story is going to be told from Knox's POV, so it's always going to be in his first person. That doesn't change._

_Oh, and I forgot to, on the first chapter, say that I got this idea from the song "Jet Pack" by Eve 6. The lyrics can be found at _

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**January 23**

He said he'd call the next weekend, so I'm not surprised whenever Mr. Nolan's secretary calls me into her office to say that there's a phone call for me. What surprises me is the exuberance in his voice when he speaks to me. It takes me a moment to place it, but, when I do, I say quite bluntly but not loud enough to be overheard by any passersby, "Charlie, are you _drunk_?"

He laughs dastardly at that and says, "Why would I be drunk, Knox? Don't you know alcohol's bad for you?"

I can't help but smile at that. "_I_ know that, but I also know that _you_ don't." But my amusement fades at the idea of him being drunk. Sure, Charlie's had plenty to drink in his life, but he's never actually had enough to be _drunk_. There's a very big difference. And I should know, too, because I have been drunk—and it was horrible. "Charlie, are you all right? Where did you get it?"

"Relax," he chides like I'm a little child. "I didn't steal it, if that's what you're wondering. A couple guys went to the pub. It's not like it's a big deal."

"Yes, it is," I snap into the phone, wishing I were speaking with him face to face. "You're underage, and you know you shouldn't do anything like that without any kind of supervision."

He lets out a snort of derisive laughter and says, "Come on, Knox, it's not like _you_'ve never been drunk before. It's not a big deal."

The problem is, he doesn't realize that it _is_ a big deal. Just like Charlie to ignore everyone else's thoughts on his own health. Whatever happened to sucking all the marrow out of life? Instead, he's ignoring what's really important and wallowing in self-pity. All I can really do is groan. If he were here with me, I'd probably hit him over the head with something hard, but I know for certain that there's no way I could possibly talk some sense into him. So what's the point in trying?

"Jesus, Knox, a few drinks isn't going to kill me," he snaps when I don't say anything. I can tell just from the sound of his voice that he's rolling his eyes.

I clench my teeth to stop myself from yelling at him. Someone needs to knock some sense into him, but it's doubtful that that could possibly happen in the near future. If I could, I'd be with him now to help, but I just can't.

"Don't you go all silent on me," he says angrily into the phone. "You were the one that wanted to talk to me. It's not like I _want_ to waste my time talking to you." A cornered dog bites back. Not that he's cornered, but he apparently feels that way.

Knowing it's just him being stubborn and defensive, I ignore the statement and ask, "How could you be stupid enough to get drunk, Charlie? Why would you do that?" All right, so I didn't completely ignore that statement. I can't help but allow some vehemence into my own sentences.

I stop breathing for a moment, realizing what an idiotic question that is. We both know _why_, but neither of us wants to say it. I guess we're both a little bit in denial. The drinking probably helps him deal. But that's still not a good enough reason.

He seems to think it's an idiotic question, too. Apparently too idiotic to answer. Even too idiotic to even continue talking to me. Maybe it's his stubbornness or maybe it's because he's drunk, but he doesn't find it at all pleasing to try to justify his actions. Without any words, he hangs up on his end of the phone.

For the second time in a row after a badly ended conversation with him, I listen to the dial tone until I finally slam the phone against the wall, not bothering to return it to its proper place before stomping as quietly as possible outside into the fresh air.

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_Thanks again for reading. Please leave me a review!_


	3. February 14

**February 14**

The boys have decided that we need to call Charlie instead of him calling me because he doesn't seem to want to do that right now. It's been three weeks, but there's still nothing out of him. Even if he doesn't remember our conversation, he certainly remembers that stupid Charlie grudge he thinks he has to hold.

I tried to call him first on Friday, but, when he discovered it was me, he hung up the telephone. Stubborn bastard. Of course, it's not like there's really anything I can do to change his mind if he won't even listen to me. So I didn't try again.

Meeks tried to talk to him next, but, during the conversation, while he was trying to defend me, Charlie got frustrated and hung up the phone. Not much of a surprise there. Honestly, all this angst-Charlie is turning me into a cynic. I don't think Captain would be too happy about that.

So that entire theory about calling him first didn't work. Of course, we do have other plans… well, Meeks and Pitts probably have other plans. I certainly don't. I guess I'll just have to wait for him to call me. He obviously won't listen, so what's the point in trying.

And, yet, somehow I find myself standing here right next to the phone with that stupid sign above it, and I can't help but dial the number for St. John's Academy and ask for Charlie Dalton, even if he's just going to hang up on me again. Just hearing his voice makes me feel better because I can tell from the tone whether or not he's well, even if he barely says a thing to me.

Suddenly, I realize the date. Valentine's Day. I should be spending my time with Chris right now. We are technically dating, and we have been since a short while after Neil's death. Even before, though, she was there for me. I should be with her now, happy that she decided to waste all her time on me and doing my best to make sure she doesn't regret that decision.

But I don't hang up the phone to leave and be with her.

Charlie needs me now. He may just hang up the telephone again, but he'll know that we still care if we keep calling. He'll know we're not giving up on him. He'll know that we intend to do anything we can to help him, even if none of us were able to help Neil in his time of need.

Chris can survive without pampering for a day, even though it's Valentine's Day. Besides, knowing her, she'll understand and be happy that we're trying to help him. She's better than being jealous of the time I spend with my friends. She knows that I love her.

"Hello?" His voice, when he finally answers, is calm, steady, and expectant. He probably expects who it is already—or at least has a good idea. After all, we're supposed to know each other so well that we don't even have to tell each other what's bothering us and we know what's going on.

"Don't hang up," I reply forcefully. I want to make my point before he becomes rude and rebellious again. Actually, now that I think about it, that's exactly the kind of Charlie I want. Just not toward me. I want the old Charlie back. This new guy is so weird and different. He's not the same person anymore.

He doesn't say anything to that. Of course, what's he _supposed_ to say to that? Besides, it's not like he hangs up either, so I guess that's a good sign. The silence in the telephone is just as expectant as his voice was before.

"I just want to talk to you, Charlie," I say after a moment of hesitation. "Is it all right if we just talk for a while?"

For a while, he doesn't say a thing. But, still, he doesn't hang up the telephone. That's got to mean something. Then, at long last, he finally responds, "Depends. What do you want to talk about?"

I pause and then say quietly into the phone, "Anything. Anything you want to talk about. I just want to know that you're okay."

"I'm all right, Knox," he retorts begrudgingly. "You don't have to worry about me so much. It's not like I'm so fragile I'll break if someone touches me." That statement just frustrates me. Well, of course he doesn't think we should worry about him. If he thought we should worry about him, that would mean that he worries about himself, which is not a good thing in the least.

"Whether you want us to worry or not, we're still going to worry about you. You're our friend, Charlie, and just because you're far away doesn't mean we're letting you go without a fight."

"I'm fine," he insists cantankerously. "I don't have time to talk right now. I need to go."

I'm suddenly worried again. It's the middle of the day. Where could he possibly be going? If it's anything like Hell-ton there, then they're not allowed to leave campus either, so what could he be going to do? "Why do you have to go?" I ask concernedly.

"I don't have time to talk," he repeats in frustration. "Don't worry, _Mom_," he adds curtly, "I'm not going to get into any trouble."

Again, he's the one to hang up first. Damn that stupid dial tone that I'm listening to once more. Just once, I'd like to be the one to hang up on him. But at least I got him to speak to me. That's definitely an improvement.

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_Not much improvement, I know. I have yet to start writing the next chapter, but I decided to post this anyway to hear what everyone thinks. I'll try to get the chapters longer soon, but I make no guarantees because I don't have every little bit of the story planned out._

_Thanks for reading. I'd love a couple of reviews._

_Anatui_


	4. February 21

**February 21**

"Hello?" I say into the telephone, hoping against hope that it's him. It is.

"A girl asked me out on a date yesterday."

His first words don't stun me. It's the ones after that that do. For some reason I can't imagine Charlie Dalton ever doing what he says he did.

"I turned her down."

It doesn't make any sense at all. Well, I guess, to some extent, it does. It's difficult to imagine that even the suicide of our best friend could get Charlie to stop having sex. It's difficult to imagine Charlie turning down a girl. But the death of a friend can do that, I guess. Considering this is a first-time experience, I really have no idea what I'm talking about here. But it certainly made me reconsider my own life, so I suppose it isn't completely unreasonable for it to do the same for him. Still, I never expected it to have this kind of effect on him.

"Why?" I finally ask.

His voice is rather disgruntled when he speaks, but he keeps himself from making any snide remarks. That's improvement number two. "I don't know," he says in response. "I guess I just wasn't interested."

"Bu-but you're _always_ interested!" I stutter in disbelief.

"Apparently not always," he replies, and I can tell that he's shrugging.

"You did find her attractive, though, right?" I ask, just to be sure that he's somewhat sane. I don't know what I'd do with a crazy Charlie. Might have to go get him and bring him back just to keep him from… doing whatever it is crazy people do. Wouldn't want to send him to an asylum, though. That'd be bad. He'd hate me forever, and I wouldn't blame him.

"Yeah, I guess," he says, and I feel a little reassured.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," he repeats, but this time he elaborates more. "I snuck off the grounds with a couple guys, and we went to the local park just to hang out, and she just came up and asked me out. Nothing to it, really. Just kind of odd, I suppose."

"How's that odd?" I ask in concern, doing my best to look at this from his skewed point of view.

"I don't know," he says yet again. "It just is."

"Okay," I reply, not sure what I'm supposed to say to that.

We don't talk for a while, and I try my best not to focus on the fact that he _snuck_ off the grounds to go to the _park_. But I fail. Come on! If Charlie were to ever sneak off grounds, he'd go to a pub or place with a bunch of girls—not the _park_. Since when did Charlie Dalton _ever_ go to a park?

"You missed Valentine's Day," he says out of the blue.

For a minute or two, I don't know what he's talking about, but then I remember that I had spent February 14th talking on the phone with him. But what else was I supposed to do? Say, 'Hey, Charlie, listen, I gotta go be with Chris, so you just sit there and be depressed while I'm off making out with my girlfriend.'? Yeah right!

"You're my best friend," I remind him. "Of course I missed it."

I'm not sure that Chris would enjoy knowing that I'd rather be sitting here and talking with him just to make him feel better (if it even does) than on the best date she and I could ever possibly have. As much as I love her—and I _do_ love her—somehow, I think that friends will always matter more to me than anything else… except maybe life itself.

"What'd you tell Chris?"

"That I was sorry but you needed me."

He lets out a short puff of laughter in disbelief. Not exactly normal Charlie laughter, but he's getting there slowly. "She let you get away with that?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess. She said she was all right with that, that she was glad I was helping you," I reason slowly, not quite sure what he's getting at.

"You know nothing about women," he replies in amusement. Apparently, whatever plight I'm having is helping his ego. However, he seems to be ignoring everything I say that has to do with him. "They don't like to be left alone, especially on Valentine's Day. She may have said that she was all right with it, but she really wasn't."

"Since when were you an expert on women?"

"I've had seven girlfriends in the past year."

"Yeah, and how many did you dump after less than two weeks?"

"Hey, I know how to get with them—nobody knows how to live with them."

We both laugh for a moment, happy to be able to talk about something without it sounding false and unreal. But the moment passes without hesitation, and we're back to the awkward silences in no time.

Having your best friend depressed is difficult, but being the one depressed has to be more difficult. I've tried to imagine what he's going through, but I just can't. Sure, I've experienced what he has—only I'm not cut off from the people I care about most.

He sighs after a long while. "I'm never gonna see you again," he says calmly, forlornly.

I'm surprised—I'll admit that—but I don't hesitate when I answer him. "Of course you are," I say, rather aghast—not only because it's so very completely _wrong_, but because he actually opened up about something. A rarity, no matter what anyone might argue on the subject. "There's always the summer."

"Oh, yeah, right," he replies, sarcasm eagerly dripping from his voice. "My parents would fucking love that, wouldn't they? As far as they're concerned, it's your fault that I'm so fucking screwed up. I don't think they'll let any of you guys visit, let alone allow me to even leave the house unsupervised." He pauses again before adding, "I'll probably have to spend the whole summer _reading_," like it's such a horrible prospect. "God, I'm so fucking fucked."

And I can't help it. I laugh, and, pretty soon, he's joining me, laughing, giggling, grinning, _guffawing_ like there's no damn tomorrow. I don't even know why we're laughing anyway, 'cause it's not even remotely funny, but, at the same time, it's the most hilarious thing I've heard in a long time. And neither of us can seem to stop laughing for at least a whole minute… probably more.

When it finally subsides, the grin still won't leave my face, and I add almost desperately, "Yeah, you are. But at least you've got a whole bookcase full of all those interesting subjects that your parents think you need to read."

He's still grinning, too—I can hear it in his voice. "Of course," he agrees wholeheartedly. "I mean, what's better than reading about banking? And math and accounting! Mathematics is very important, after all, when it comes to banking. Hell, if I don't properly learn how to count soon, I'll never get to have the career I've always wanted!" he wails into the telephone.

Then we both say "A banker!" simultaneously and continue to laugh.

Good day. Probably the best day I've had since the last time I saw Mr. Keating last—and that's been two months. It's amazing how time flies when you're depressed—happy, too, but that doesn't apply here, now does it?

* * *

_Yay, another chapter! And it's the longest one so far! I'll try to update soon, but I haven't been able to work very much on stories due to school work and all the books I have to read. Besides, have you seen how many stories I'm writing? And not all of them are even posted on this site! Jeez, it's gonna take me forever, especially with my original (and more important) stories that I'm working on._

_Eh, I'll finish all my stories eventually. Unless I die first. Oops, knock on wood._

_Anatui_


	5. March 16

**March 16**

Is it weird that I actually miss him more now than I have in the whole past two months?

I thought that losing one of my best friends to suicide and another to expulsion would break me. But, to be honest, I'm the one that's holding the rest of these guys together. That takes a lot of willpower, a lot of strength that I didn't know I had. It's so much responsibility that I've hardly had the time to just stand around and think about things, to just miss them and mourn them.

You'd think that I would've missed Charlie more just after he left. I still haven't seen him since then. I still haven't spoken to him face to face. And, yes, I certainly miss him and I have the whole time, but exchanging these strange conversations with him recently had made me miss him even more than I did at the beginning.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that he's changed so much. He seems just as broken as the other guys do, as I'm pretty sure I am inside here somewhere. I miss the old Charlie—I miss Nuwanda. He never goes by that anymore.

At least the last couple calls I've gotten him to laugh. And he got me to laugh. That's an improvement, at least. Not this time, apparently.

"So the bars in this town are shit," he says nonchalantly, as if he were explaining the weather.

"Why? What happened?" I inquire.

He did this last time. He brings up the subject he really wants to talk about by making a simple statement that barely has anything to do with the _actual_ subject. A little childish, but that's Charlie. How could I expect anything else from him?

"I was out with the guys again," he explains—you know, in the way where his explanation really isn't an explanation at all.

"Yeah."

"So I was getting a little drunk. None of it tasted any good."

"Drunk isn't exactly what you need to be right now."

He snorts. And why exactly do I even try anymore? Nothing I could say would ever change his mind. Probably. He, otherwise, ignores the statement, though.

"So there was this girl there," he continues. "She had to be at least twenty. She was flirting with everybody. Total slut."

He's slowly getting to what he wants to tell me.

"She smiled at me."

Big deal.

"Not just a normal smile. You know, the smile that a girl gives you when she wants to… _you know_." He hesitates. "On second thought, you probably don't. It's not like Chris would ever really… do that, or at least lead up to it _that_ way."

I know exactly what he's talking about. Is he actually getting his sexual appetite back or something? God I hope so, because Charlie without the constant sex-talk is like English class without Mr. Keating. It's just _wrong_.

"So, anyway, that's not the point."

Yeah, my sex life with Chris is _definitely_ not the point.

"The point is, she was smiling at me that way, and…"

He's got me curious now. "And what?"

He heaves a deep sigh before responding. "And I just couldn't do it."

"Do what? Have sex with her?"

"Ugh," he groans, "I don't know why I'm even telling you this. It's not like you've got much experience on the matter." He's bitter. But he's _actually_ trying to change the subject.

Ignoring his rudeness, I continue to press the matter. Maybe I'll actually get an answer out of him one of these days. "Yeah, that's nice and all, but you couldn't do what?" I say, brushing away his cold words. Then, a thought strikes me. "You couldn't have sex with her," I accuse. "You weren't able to, you know, get it up."

He doesn't say anything, so I know I'm right. If it weren't the truth, he would've been defending it like I had insulted his mother's honor or something. Well, except for the fact that he really doesn't care about his mother's honor.

"Oh my God," I murmur into the telephone in shock.

It's a difficult concept to wrap your head around. Charlie Dalton without sexual urges or arousals is so weird. I think Hell might have broken loose or frozen over or _something_ must've happened. The world is upside-down. The earth is actually flat. Cats and dogs are mating. Pigs are flying. The world must be coming to an end. That's the only way that this could possibly be happening. Or maybe I'm just dead.

I can feel him roll his eyes. "Oh, shut up, will you?"

I feel like I should be teasing him or something like that, but I just can't. It's too weird.


End file.
